House of Gold, page 31
I don’t imagine there’s usually so much anxiety on display, though. As I skirt along the walls of the room, serving in my role as a member of the gala’s security, I catch snippets of heated conversations here and there, all about the Free People and their recent attacks on the cities.
Used to be that the cities could detect enemy forces long before they reached dry land. These days Free commandos seem to pop up wherever they please, attacking arms depots and out-of-city manufacturing plants, razing farmland, destroying maglev lines—moving like ghosts across the mainland.
“Maybe it’s a new stealth technology,” I hear someone say.
Or maybe someone infiltrated your networks so completely they can simply tell your instruments to ignore what’s right in front of them, I think to myself and keep moving.
“Maybe they’re behind the attack on the Abode,” I hear someone else say a while later. He lowers his voice and adds, “In fact, what if they’re behind everything else? The skelem rebellion? Michelle’s assassination? The gang riots in Kenrock? Hell, we aren’t the only ones under attack. And now we’ve got snot-nosed kids screaming about democracy on the streets. I’m telling you. This is their work.”
Close, but not close enough, I think sardonically.
“My grandfather will be furious when the Abode comes back online,” someone replies. “I’m seriously not looking forward to that conversation.”
“You might not need to worry. I heard those stupid judgment polls start running the minute they switch the system back on. The Abode might not be salvageable.”
“I should count my blessings, I suppose.”
I continue moving, watching, listening.
“Rotten Free People,” someone else grumbles. “We should just drop rods on the lot of them and be done with it.”
“They have nuclear missiles, my dear. We would be obliterated too.”
“Bah. We can intercept their nukes.”
“I’m not so sure. I’ve heard they have new stealth technology.”
“So what are we supposed to do? Let them destroy us?”
“Well. Perhaps we should try listening to what they want for a change.”
I’ve checked and double-checked. This room is probably the most secure place on the planet right now. There’s a heavy Kolovrat presence and enough police in the building to crew a military spaceship. If protecting Adaolisa is my prime concern, then I should be satisfied with the state of things.
But I feel my throat constricting as I glimpse her towering white turban among the dining guests. She’s seated next to a member of the Board, splendid in a white-and-silver evening gown with cuts and vents in all the right places so that she looks not only like she belongs in this moneyed hall but like she could command it too.
I have a heart to rebel, to grab her and run away, but this is what she wants, and I exist to make sure she gets it, so I stay.
I check my mobile, and my chest flutters when I notice Hondo has sent me another sketch, the third one this week. I’ve told him to stop, and I suppose I could cut him off if I wanted to, but . . .
But. I can’t stop looking at the woman in his drawings. It’s like being shown the person I could have been, or the person I want to be, yet so far from who I actually am.
Is this how he sees me?
A wave of sorrow takes me by surprise, and I suddenly want to get out of here. Adaolisa must sense something, because she glances in my direction, and I feel her eyes following me as I leave the main hall, heading for the bathrooms.
At the sinks I open a faucet and let it run, wetting my fingers before wiping my eyes. A good thing I wore no makeup tonight.
I don’t know what’s gotten into me, why a simple sketch should make me feel so much loss. It’s like I’m nostalgic for a life that never happened. Isn’t that foolish?
I am not that singer on the stage. I am a Proxy. I am a killing machine. I am—
The door opens, and someone else steps into the bathroom. I sigh as I turn off the faucet. I’m really not in the mood for this. “What do you want, Angelique?”
She folds her bionic arms. Like me, she’s wearing a ballistic vest and a clearly visible personal defense weapon. “What are you planning?” she demands.
I roll my eyes. “If I get my way, to spend the rest of the night without seeing your face. Now if you’ll excuse me.”
She moves to block my way out. Normally she’d taunt me or flirt aggressively, but tonight her stare is cold. “I saw you here two days ago. In this hotel. You were wearing a filter, but I know it was you. You came in with a bag and left without it. What was in it? Where is it now?”
Fuck. I scream that curse inside my head so loud I wouldn’t be surprised if the whole city heard me. The stupid woman has gotten better at following me. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, forcing calm into my veins.
“Try again.”
“I don’t have time for this.” I make to walk past her, knowing she’ll try to stop me.
Her hands are machines. They are stronger and faster than ordinary hands, but her mind is not. While she reaches to grab me by the arm and push me back, she doesn’t see me unsheathing a knife from my belt with my other hand and fails to react in time to stop me from driving the knife deep into the side of her neck.
I twist, enduring her crushing grip, wide eyes watching me with shock and accusation. She knew I was no good from the second she laid eyes on me, and perhaps given time, she would have found her proof.
I respect that. I wish she’d been worse at her job; then maybe I wouldn’t have to do this.
I hold her up as her machine grip weakens, the life leaving her limbs. There’s already so much blood, though most of it has soaked down into her clothes. Still, if someone walks in here now, I won’t be able to talk my way out of this.
I quickly drag her to the farthest stall from the door and deposit her onto the toilet in a seated position. After locking the stall from the inside, I heave myself up and over the door to land on the other side.
I pay attention to the surrounding static as I gather paper towels from the dispenser. By the time two women enter the bathroom in a swirl of laughter and expensive perfumes, I’ve already cleaned up the blood from the floor and washed my hands. With my Int-Sec filter active, the women don’t even look at me. I silently wait for them to pass before I walk out the door.
Cameras watching this hallway will have to be scrubbed, but that was always going to happen anyway. I reach for my mobile and call Adaolisa.
“Yes?” She sounds a little annoyed. We weren’t supposed to call each other.
“I had to remove Angelique,” I tell her in a low voice. “She saw me come here the other day. Is Dieng in the room?”
“It would seem so, yes.”
“We have to do this now.”
A pause. “Of course.”
I want to tell her we shouldn’t do this. Let’s not. Let’s run away to another world. Let’s be ordinary people. “Be careful,” I say.
“I will. Have a good night.”
I stare at my mobile, tempted to take another look at Hondo’s sketch. The moment of weakness passes, and I bring up an application connecting me to the briefcase.
Two days ago, an alias rented a hotel room three floors above the gala hall. Among her things was a specific briefcase capable of broadcasting a specific signal, preprogrammed to deliver the signal at the highest strength when activated.
I walk back into the main hall just in time to witness a Board member stabbing his wife in the eye with a dessert fork. Gasps ensue as she steps back in shock, covering her bleeding eye with a hand. Then her perfectly chiseled face twists with inhuman rage, and she leaps upon her husband, bringing him down to the floor as her teeth sink into his neck.
From there it seems everyone starts screaming.
All at once, people in glittering gowns and expensive suits erupt into a violent melee, attacking one another with cutlery, chairs, and plates along with teeth and bare fists.
I knew what was coming, but even I’m shocked by the display. As I search for Adaolisa, I spot Director Dieng clobbering one of her aides with a champagne bottle. The aide collapses, and another one screams.
“Director, are you well?”
Mindless, Dieng snarls and makes a swipe at her other aide, but before she can get closer, someone else smashes a chair into her back.
“What’s going on?” someone shouts.
“The Oloye have gone mad!”
Those not affected by the sudden insanity flee for the exits. Adaolisa has hidden with a few others behind a group of Kolovrat mercenaries, who all seem at a genuine loss, holding their guns like they don’t know who to shoot.
Uniformed police officers are the first to run into the fray and unwittingly find themselves having to fend off ravenous Oloye.
“Subdue them!” I hear Adaolisa shout. “Stop them from hurting themselves and each other!”
While the unaffected guests trample each other to be first out through the doors, the Kolovrat finally burst into action, moving to subdue their employers. I join in with the other Int-Sec agents present; even with my strength, it’s a struggle to pull Oloye off each other while keeping them from attacking me.
The Kolovrat mercenaries are efficient from the beginning, but the police officers take a little longer to realize that being gentle is counterproductive. Hundreds of Oloye were in attendance at the gala; by the time we have them all bound in zip ties—those still alive and lucid at any rate—we’re all sweating and panting.
Off to the side, Adaolisa is already delegating tasks to a senior Int-Sec agent. “Get a list of everyone who was here and make sure they know to keep their mouths shut,” I hear her say. “We’ll go after anyone who spreads false rumors. This applies to the staff as well.”
The agent is clearly shaken, but she nods. “Yes, madam.”
“Commissioner Ingabire?” Adaolisa says.
The recently promoted police commissioner is standing nearby, along with Dieng’s surviving aides, but they all look aghast, transfixed by the scene of Oloye writhing on the floor as they struggle against their binds.
“Commissioner Ingabire?” she says again.
His wide eyes swivel to her, dazed.
“Commissioner, we need your people to set up a wide cordon around this hotel. Immediately. Until we know more, what happened here must be contained.”
He blinks, then seems to come back to himself. “Er. Yes. Of course. A cordon. I’ll . . . get right on that.”
A shift has occurred in the room, though I think at present I’m the only one aware of it. The leaders of this city have been incapacitated in so shocking a manner that everyone is desperate for a bit of normalcy, and someone has stepped up to give them exactly that.
Adaolisa has never been more powerful than she is now, with the police commissioner taking her orders, aides from the CID and the Defense Force looking up to her, and the commanding officer of the Kolovrat unit coming over and saying, “What do we do now, madam?”
She takes a moment to look around the room. The Oloye are still snarling like feral animals. The doors have been closed, guarded by men and women who all look like they’ve seen the world end. My expression can’t be far from theirs, though for a different reason. There are dead bodies on the floor, and Angelique’s corpse is going cold in a bathroom not far away.
This is who I am, not the woman in the sketch.
Adaolisa shakes her head, looking appropriately somber. “This must be an ultraware hack of some kind. No one else appears to be affected, but it could be infectious to other Oloye, so we need to keep them isolated.”
She meets my gaze briefly before coming to a decision. “Clear up a hospital, and put them all there. Make sure they’re comfortable but contained. We will get to the bottom of this. Order will be restored.”
CHAPTER 23:
HONDO
It’s while we’re having breakfast in the FV Khama’s mess hall—me, Benjamin, and the two Primes—that David reveals the next target he wants to attack: a base on an island some several hundred miles northwest of Heynes Group City.
And it’s not just any base, he tells us. It’s not even city property, like the other targets the Free People have been attacking lately. In fact, it’s very probably the main operations center of the people who attacked the Habitat, or so he says.
“You found the Stewards?” Jamal asks, sounding only a little less skeptical than I feel.
David shrugs, grinning like a fool. “Since our meeting with Queen Adaolisa, I’ve had my people on the lookout. I figured, after what Counselor said, they’d have to have a base, right? And lots of guns and submarines—not something easy to hide, and probably not affiliated with any city. Here. Take a look.”
He pushes a tablet across the steel table, which Jamal takes and peruses with an arched eyebrow.
“For some weird reason, the cities act like they don’t know that base exists,” David says. “It’s like a blind spot. Or something they all agreed to ignore. Suspicious, no?”
I bite down on a piece of bread so I don’t say something rude. Across the table, Benjamin frowns like I said it anyway, though he keeps silent himself. We’ve come to a tacit agreement on the troubling matter of the ongoing . . . relations . . . between our Primes. Namely, we’ll ignore what’s happening and also ignore each other.
Or at least, I try to ignore Benjamin, though he can’t seem to resist sending me death glares. I don’t waste any energy returning them. Less chance of us trying to kill each other that way.
After reading through the information on the tablet, Jamal sets it down, a pensive wrinkle on his forehead. “How did you get this intel?”
David snorts. “You’re not the only one with connections, Jamal.”
“I literally have all the connections.”
“You work with signals and processors. I work with people and word of mouth, and sometimes people know and say things you won’t always find on a computer.”
“Computers know everything, David,” Jamal scoffs. “But tell me more about this base.” His eyes fall back onto the tablet. “What’s this device mentioned here?”
Leaning closer with a conspiratorial look in his eye, David says, “So the thing that happened in ZimbaTech last week?”
“You mean the Oloye turning into zombies or whatever the fuck Adaolisa did to them?”
David chuckles. “Yes. Well, my intel says it was some sort of device that did it. Like a mind-control thing. Made by the Stewards, and it came from that base. I don’t know how she got her hands on the device, but now she’s in control of a city.”
Jamal considers the other Prime. “So you think this is a Steward base.”
“You have the report right in front of you.”
“I want to hear it from your lips, David.”
David folds his arms, leaning against the backrest of his chair. “Yes, I think this is likely their largest base of operations, and it’s a big fat target waiting for the taking. Think about it: We could get some payback for what those bastards did to the Habitat, but who knows what else we’ll find there? These are the people who made ultraware, Jamal. Control that and we control the world.”
I can’t help it. I shake my head, cursing beneath my breath.
So far, working with David and the Free People hasn’t meant joining in on the action. In fact, we haven’t needed to leave the flotilla at all. Jamal has coordinated every operation from the safety of the Seajack, the importance of which has become obvious to the leaders of the Black Star tribe, since they now keep it under constant guard.
I’ve been happy with this state of affairs, despite the intrusion. I may not like being here, but I sleep well at night knowing I don’t have to worry about someone shooting at Jamal. Even if a raid goes badly, he’s never in the line of fire. Let David and Benjamin get shot at. Keep my Prime out of it.
But I already know Jamal will want to be present for the raid.
David notices my reaction and sends me a slanted grin, eyes glinting with the hint of mockery. He knows how much I despise him for having power over Jamal. “Something you’d like to say, Hondo?”
Stay the fuck away from my Prime. “No,” I say. “Nothing at all.”
“A ringing endorsement, coming from you,” he says, his grin widening. “So. What do you say, Jamal?”
Jamal runs a finger along the edge of the tablet, his gaze far away. At length he sighs. “Sounds interesting, I suppose. I’ll look into it, see what defenses we’ll need to bypass. I’ll know more by this time tomorrow. Send the intel to me, will you?”
“Go ahead and take the tablet,” David says graciously. “And take as long as you need to plan. We’re in no hurry.”
They smile at each other. A dull pain throbs along my fingers, only for me to realize I’m holding a leg of the steel table in a tight grip.
I let go. My hand has left a visible dent on the metal.
Maybe Jamal senses I have frustrations to vent, because he insists we visit a gymnasium in one of the flotilla’s hexagonal neighborhoods for some kickboxing.
I don’t apply myself at first, rebuffing his attacks absentmindedly while he tries to pummel me like I’m a punching bag. My lack of effort pisses him off, and he starts coming at me with everything he’s got.
He’s trying to get a rise out of me, but I don’t want to lose it, so I knock him down to the mat with a punch to the face. I glower down at him while he wipes blood from his mouth.
“Don’t start something you won’t be able to finish,” I warn him. “I’m not in the mood for whatever little tantrum you’re trying to throw.”
Jamal gets up. He wipes his mouth again and shows me the blood on his hand, an eyebrow lifted. “I’m the one throwing a tantrum?”
“You asked for it.”
“Only because you’re sulking and not saying what you want to say to me.”
“I have nothing to say.”
“Bullshit. You want to talk me out of the raid. Well? I’m listening.”
I decide I’m not having this conversation and start undoing my borrowed wrist wraps. “I’m not going to waste my time,” I say. “We both know you want to see what’s inside that base. All I can do is make sure you come out of it alive.”
